Little Shop Of Chocolates
by Daemon faerie queen
Summary: Set after the Tim Burton film. When feisty flowergirl Isabelle gains too much attention from the Amazing Chocolatier, the Wonka business is at stake. And no one should get on the wrong side of an Oompa Loompa...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor do I own Tim Burton's adaptation of Mr Wonka. A/N: Okay, I don't know how far I'll go with this. I'm not really keen on romance, especially not the sappy kind, so I'm a try and see what happens. If there are any mistakes, sorry, I wrote this at 3am last night for some reason, lol! Enjoy xx

* * *

As the shop blinds flew up, the morning sunlight bored into Isabelle's eyes. She wasn't really a morning person, but then again who was in this city? Worn out from several sleepless nights, due to late night deliveries, the young florist had tied her dark hair scruffily into a bun. She didn't much care for self-appearance at work. It was the art of the flora arrangement that interested her. Isabelle was not a 'girly girl', indeed, on some occasions she was known to fall into distemper at the mere wink of local gentlemen.

It wasn't as though anyone to attract was likely to enter her shop at any rate. _Miss Vane's Caterers_, the place for all people married and happy or married and desperately in need of forgiveness. Singleton Isabelle arranged the plants and her good co-manager Mrs Soden baked the cakes, but Isabelle preferred life alone. Besides, it meant she wouldn't need to change the sign.

Today was no different from any other day in her opinion, except perhaps a tad more irritating. Her hands slid carefully in between the stalks if a rose bunch whilst she trimmed the thorns.

"Watch what you're doing, dear," Mrs Soden chided so suddenly that Isabelle stabbed a finger on the flowers. "You'll damage the stems."

"Yes Mrs Soden," Isabelle sighed, gritting her teeth at the pain.

"You know you really should have your hair down sometimes. I only keep mine up from the cakes, hygiene you know. Not that these American types take much notice," the kindly woman chuckled. "All too busy suing one another over trivial whatevers."

"I don't see as it matters," Isabelle replied, stuffing the flowers into a basket. "I'm starting to get the feeling you suggest this twice weekly."

"Once a week, dear."

Isabelle paused to frown at her colleague.

"And is there a reason for this?" she asked.

Mrs Soden averted her eyes and began to wander to her cake section.

"I just thought maybe you should look nice in case some handsome man should step through the door."

Isabelle raised her eyebrows.

"I see. They only arrive on Thursdays, is that it?" she said, unimpressed. "I'm sure I'll survive missing out on 'the man of my dreams' for one day. Not that I even need a guy, because I don't. I mean…have you seen any in particular?" She eyed Mrs Soden suspiciously.

"Well…" the old lady stalled as she squirted pink swirls on a three-tiered cake.

"Annie?" Isabelle pressed.

"There is one gentleman who tends to turn up on certain days. He seems fairly respectable. Little wonder from his job…"

Isabelle was barely listening, too busy tying a yellow ribbon on the basket in front of her.

"He's quite well known," Annie Soden added.

The young woman behind the counter nodded automatically.

"Goes by the name of Willy Wonka…?"

There was a clattering sound. Isabelle had dropped her scissors.

"_The _Willy Wonka?" she said, fixing Annie with a stare.

"Yes."

"In here? In _our _shop?"

"Mmhmm," Mrs Soden answered, nodding.

Isabelle was gobsmacked, but not for the expected reason. Most people in this city would light up at the mere mention of Mr Wonka – the most famous and marvellous chocolatier in the world, but not Isabelle. She had always worked hard and never asked for more than she owned. Since she wasn't a child now at the blossoming age of twenty-two, even the delights of chocolate were close to losing their charms. The frown now filled her face.

"Really Annie! I'm surprised you didn't chase him out with a broom. The nerve of him coming here! What on earth was he doing?"

"I think he wanted some flowers, actually," said Mrs Soden. "He's been visiting here at least once a month for the last year when he had those children allowed in his factory. Ever so strange, really. The poor man hardly ever leaves that place. It's a wonder I recognised him at all."

"But Annie, he nearly ran you out of business with his hulking great building," Isabelle insisted.

"That was a long time ago, dear. I have _you _now to make sure we stay open. He's not harming anyone and he even sent me a letter once to assure me he wouldn't go into the cake-making market."

"He did?"

"He did. Now take your fiery passions down a notch, miss, and give the poor menfolk a chance," Mrs Soden laughed. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I need some more flour from the basement. You get working on Mr Reynolds's order. He needs it for this afternoon."

Isabelle tutted to herself as Annie left through the back door. _Fat chance of me trying for a multi-millionaire_, she thought. _I'm not some pathetic floozy who can't stand on her own two feet!_

At that moment her own two feet slipped out from beneath her as something smacked into the backs of her knees. Her head hit the shelving behind her and the whole wall unit tilted dangerously. A gloved hand shot out and caught its frame.

A voice said, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

Isabelle looked up from the floor at the blurred image of an old man with a walking stick. She had no clue how he had gotten inside the shop let alone appeared behind her without her noticing.

Her eyes came into focus and she realised how odd this man was. His face was hidden by a large grey beard that hid even his lips, and a ridiculously huge pair of sunglasses. On top of his head perched a black top hat hiding either a bald scalp or a secret stash of hair.

"I-I didn't mean t-," the man stammered in a forced gruff voice.

"It's fine, honestly," said Isabelle as she picked herself up. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yeah- uh, yes, I'd like to buy a plant," he replied.

There was something bizarre about the way he spoke – as though trying to stifle an overpoweringly embarrassing accent.

"Well, sir, we're florists. You might wanna go to a garden centre if you want one you can keep," Isabelle said awkwardly.

"Oh." He seemed a bit crestfallen.

The old man edged around to the front of the counter, leaning over his cane as he peered around the shelves. Isabelle watched him from the corner of her sight, and narrowed her eyes. Could it be?

A thin cord of elastic ran from behind the man's ear to his mouth. Before she could get a closer glimpse, he had turned to face her again.

"Do you have any of those more, um, exotic things? The liddle ones that snap at people?"

"I don't think so…" Isabelle began but spun at the sound of the storeroom door slamming.

"Oh look, dear, you have a customer!" Mrs Soden beamed, laden with a bag of lightly escaping flour.

The young shopkeeper heard the man laugh nervously and scratch his beard with a free hand. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. The man's entire facial hair had slid sideways. He wasn't an old man at all!

Annie took a proper glance at the arrival and nearly dropped her sack. She grinned in Isabelle's direction.

"What did I tell you, Izzy? It's Mr Wonka!" she cried.

Isabelle gawped at Mrs Soden.

"What?"

She looked towards the gentleman at the counter but there was no one to be seen. The shop's bell was ringing nearly off its hinges and only that drowned out the noise of hastily fleeing feet.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Okay just re-edited this one as there was a severe lack of description :S Hopefully this will get better as it and if it progresses. Any reviews would be appreciated : ) Thanks xxx

* * *

A fortnight passed, almost uneventful for the daily routines that bled together into one. Of course Isabelle had a few drinks at weekends with Jemima from the boutique across the street, a quiet girl, her best friend, but by no means unmarried. Of course some days were better than others, especially those where she avoided the eagle eyes of Mr Fugus the butcher. It wasn't that he was horrible, but there was something about a man who spent his days covered in bloodstains and wore his moustache like a dislodged toupee that was less than comforting.

Another Thursday pounced and Isabelle was left to run the shop alone as Annie had called in sick. She was a little less dishevelled this time but was hardly following her co-worker's advice to smarten up entirely. A few strands of her hair poked out in a pineapple style from her bobble and she had allowed the small design of a cat to creep into the top corner of today's blouse.

She was just collecting a packet of gold ribbons from the storeroom when she heard a hoarse voice calling from upstairs on the shop floor.

"Hello? Is anyone around?"

Isabelle hurried up the wooden steps to be of service; and came face to face with an old man with a top hat, a grey beard and rather large spectacles. Her expression became immediately sulky.

"Yes, what would you like?" she asked coldly. "_Sir?_"

"Uh, I'd like to buy some flowers," he said. "That is what you do here after all."

Isabelle strode to the counter and placed the ribbons in a drawer.

"Well at least you've got that part right now," she snorted. "Any idea what kind of flowers?"

The man hobbled nearer to her, blissfully unaware of her tone. He squinted around at the displays on the shelves and in the windows before standing near the till.

"I'd like those ones," he said, finally, pointing to a bouquet settled on one of the ledges behind her. "To give to a pretty lady." He gave a wheezing chuckle.

"Oh really," Isabelle replied, dully as she reached for them.

"Yes, it's for my wife. It's our anniversary today."

The young woman flushed and slammed the bouquet onto the counter.

"You don't fool me, you know. Why do you wear that ridiculous disguise and make up stupid stories to confuse me?" Isabelle snarled.

The accused blinked at her.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh come here!" she growled and without further ado reached across the counter to tug at his beard. She wrenched hard, hoping to pull back the chocolate-maker's elastic strings and snap them triumphantly in his face. But to her horror the beard stayed firmly in place, and the old customer yelped in pain.

"What do ye think you're doing, girl! You're completely bananas is what you are!" he cried escaped as fast as his walking stick would allow. Without a backward glance, he was stumbling off through the streets.

Isabelle clapped a hand to her mouth. What had she done? This really wasn't a good day for female hormones. She staggered back against the shelves and slid down to a crouch.

A roll of tape bounced out of the cupboard that made up part of the counter. It rolled, glistening, towards her and toppled by her foot. She watched it for a few moments, finding a sense of solace in its inanimate form.

Another ring of tape slipped out of the gap in the cupboard door. Isabelle frowned. There was an ominous creaking coming from the counter. She crawled towards it, planning to stop an avalanche of gift-wrappings she was sure was to burst out.

It creaked again, and swung open. A tumbleweed of tinsel spilled from the cupboard and uncovered the shadow beyond. Isabelle shrieked.

"Wow," said Mr Wonka, nervously. "It sure needs cleaning up in here." He smiled, petrified, at her from inside the counter.

He wasn't anywhere near as old as she'd believed him to be, having not seen him without the stupid fake beard, but probably closer to her own. His face was silvery pale and curtained with an unflattering crop of hair like an upturned plum pudding; his suit wine-red with shining 'W's on the cuffs and collar. He was like a walking, talking Wonka bar; and he was still wearing those ludicrous sunglasses.

"What…are you _DOING _in there?" Isabelle gasped, eyes threatening to ignite.

"Well, I, uh…I came in to…to ask for…that is…" he fumbled around with his words before blurting out: "There-was-a-guy, that-old-guy, he-came-in-and-I-was-worried-he'd-recognise-me-so-I-hid-in-here." He tried to move and banged his top-hatted head on the underside of the desk. "Can I come out now?" he winced.

Isabelle's state of disbelief had transcended anger. She got up and gestured that he could remove himself from his hiding place. The world-renowned chocolatier scrambled out and dusted off his coat and tails.

She suddenly couldn't help but laugh at his attire.

It was Mr Wonka's turn to frown.

"Whatsa matter with you?"

"Nothing. Just you wonder why people recognise you all the time when you go around in an aristocratic suit the colour of a ripe raspberry."

The chocolate-maker sniffed and held his head high.

"I may have to go incognito but it's no excuse to be improperly dressed," he scoffed.

Isabelle rolled her eyes.

"All right. So what is it you wanted? A rare man-eating cactus? 'Cause we've been fresh out of those for a while now."

Mr Wonka opened his mouth to speak, showing a set of unnervingly straight teeth, but decided against it. He pouted in a sultry manner, tipped his hat in farewell and made for the door.

Isabelle sighed and closed her eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry. Seriously, what did you want? I don't want to scare off my second customer of the day."

The chocolatier set his cane to the ground and used it to spin in her direction.

"Well, I didn't want nothin', little girl. What made you think I did?"

Isabelle felt her blood boil. _Little…girl?_

"Oh, so you just thought you'd take a walk around my shop for a breath of fresh air, is that it?" she seethed.

"Yeah," Mr Wonka said decidedly. "Though if you ask me, I think the air's pretty stale right about now."

She felt her face redden.

"Well I don't ask you do I? I won't ever ask you anything. You're just another smarmy toff who thinks they can waltz into my life whenever they please, not knowing the first thing about me, believing that somehow they're just that damn important that I should notice them! So just get out before you even think of asking me to make your life any less miserable for you!"

The chocolatier stood in silence as though he'd been singed by a dragon's flame. One of his hands dabbed at his coat pocket, searching vainly for the cue card that he hadn't yet written. He twisted his lips thoughtfully and, at last, his gaze swept from the floor to look her in the eyes. As he did so, he tilted his shades to reveal his eyes. His expression was of realisation.

"Oh," he said. "You thought that I came here to -." He broke off, his face paling to grey. A faint 'ew' slipped from his mouth. He trembled, and bolted out of the door, leaving Isabelle to stand in bafflement.

Numbly, she sank to her knees and started to clear up the glittering mess at the back of the counter.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Deep in the heart of the greatest chocolate factory, a young boy opened a door to find the man he most admired was not his usual self. Charlie Bucket, the luckiest and most good-natured of children, trod softly towards the still form of Mr Wonka.

The chocolatier lay sprawled on his 'Shrink Couch', his face buried into the seat, hat pulled over his eyes. Nearby, an Oompa Loompa (one of Mr Wonka's employees from a rare species of tiny people) was sitting in a plush armchair and scribbling on a clipboard.

"How long has he been like this?" little Charlie whispered to the even smaller man.

The Oompa Loompa made a circling motion and tapped his arm three times.

"Three days?" the boy said, alarmed. He shuffled over to his friend who had not moved since he entered. "Mr Wonka, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Charlie," came the muffled reply. "The rootinest-tootinest. You run along now an' I-I'll see you in the morning."

"Mr Wonka, it _is _the morning."

The chocolatier sat bolt upright, an expression of sadness stamped on his features. He gaped at Charlie.

"Already?" he sniffled. "Then it's today that you -."

"Me and my family go on holiday, yes," Charlie replied with a hint of woe. "You can still change your mind and come with us. France is a nice country, it really is."

"No it's okay," said William. "I know I said it was because they were all weird over there that I won't go, but I just don't wanna leave the factory, ya know?"

Charlie nodded. He understood as much as anyone could that this factory was as much a part of Mr Wonka as the man's own arms. It protected him. It loved him. It was the outer shell he did not physically possess. It was a wonder that the outside world did not break the poor man in half – unless it already had.

"Mr Wonka," Charlie added, "the factory's not been running so well lately. You've not been doing your checks and I'm not tall enough to reach the buttons on the machines. Some of your Oompa Loompas are even taking days off because they can't work the Inventing Room without you."

William sighed.

"All right then, I'll get started again today."

Charlie stepped forward and tipped the chocolatier's face so he could glare in his eyes.

"Mr Wonka, you're not on drugs are you?"

Mr Wonka jerked back.

"What? No! I just don't feel so hot, 'kay? What makes you think I'd do something as stupid as that?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"I found out what you feed the sheep."

"Jeez, that was an accident!" the chocolatier protested.

"Okay, well just don't keep on worrying us like this," the ten-year-old sighed. He hugged Mr Wonka.

The socio-phobic chocolatier didn't even flinch.

Charlie stepped back and frowned.

"Is this about a girl?"

William looked down at the floor.

"Please don't mumble Charlie, you know it freaks me out…" he muttered.

"It _is _about a girl!" the little boy cried, a friendly grin spreading cheek to cheek. "What's she like?"

"I don't like a girl!" Mr Wonka spluttered. "I mean, ew! They're icky and really really mean, and they have stupid hair, and they're a stupid shape, and they take everything you say the totally wrong way!"

"All right," said Charlie. "Then we'll see you soon as we get back, and I'll send you a postcard."

"Okay." William tried to hide the despair in his tone.

Charlie stopped beside the armchair as he made his way out and leant down to whisper to the Oompa Loompa psychiatrist.

"Please help him get better," he said.

The Oompa Loompa patted Charlie's arm and winked at him.

As the youngest owner of the chocolate factory left the room, Mr Wonka glanced at the small, orange-toned man in the chair with suspicion. It smiled back at him devilishly and rubbed its hands together.

William winced and lay back down on the chaise-longue. Without further thought, he tipped his hat over his eyes once more and drifted into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Agh! I'm so silly. There was a good reason for the sheep joke but I only just realised that its origins have not yet been posted in my OneDeppTooFar fic, which is where I started it. Anyone who wants to hear the expanded explanation of what Mr Wonka feeds his sheep will have to wait for one of the later chapters in One Depp Too Far For Mr Wonka. Thank you again for your feedback though :)

* * *

It was a few days later before any more was heard from _Miss Vane's Caterer's' _distinguished visitor. Isabelle was sweeping the shop floor after a hectic day of creating wedding baskets whilst a well-rested Mrs Soden wiped up the tabletops. 

"Honestly, dear, what _were _you thinking shouting at the poor man like that?" Annie sighed. "It's not as though he was doing you any harm."

"I don't know, Annie," Isabelle replied wearily. You told me he kept turning up all those times I didn't know about, he acts strangely like some creepy stalker and then I find him hiding under the counter. What am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe you shouldn't think so much in the first place," said Mrs Soden.

Isabelle stopped sweeping to look at her.

"How do you mean?"

Annie flung an icing-sugar-covered cloth over her shoulder and straightened.

"You're a nice girl, Izzy, but you've got too many barriers around that heart of yours. Even men who only want to start as friends with you get pushed back because you misjudge their intentions. You don't trust anyone."

"I trust you, Annie," Isabelle said, hurt.

"I mean men. They're not all bad. Take your father for example."

The young girl moved to lift the doormat and dusted beneath.

"My father wasn't an American," she muttered.

"Neither was Luke…"

Isabelle kept her eyes to the floor as she scraped the last of the rubbish into a bag.

"Luke wasn't even a person as far as I'm concerned."

"Oh Izzy," Mrs Soden soothed. "You can't let that one man ruin your whole life. You're older now and wiser for it too. Forget about him, maybe go out tonight with Jemima and meet some new people?"

"Jez is busy tonight, she's got family coming round."

"You know what I mean, get out some time and have some fun. I promise it'll all work out for the best."

The shop letterbox squeaked and something slapped onto the floor. Isabelle moved to pick it up.

"What is it, dear?" Annie asked.

The young florist showed the item, its wrapper glistening in the light.

"It's a bar of chocolate," she said.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" the cake-maker suggested as though it were a birthday present.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's just a normal bar of chocolate. If I wanted one I could just go down the street and buy one. And if this is from who I think it is, he didn't spare much thought as to which one I'd want," she snapped, tapping her finger on the 'Wonka' logo. She bit her lip as soon as she realised how picky she sounded. "Sorry. Here, you can have it." She passed it to Mrs Soden.

Isabelle wandered behind the counter to empty the till for the day as Annie unwrapped the bar. She glanced up, almost dropping a handful of change as the old woman cried out in surprise.

"There's a Golden Ticket inside!"

Izzy frowned.

"Annie, that competition ended a year ago. It's impossible to find another."

"Oh I know that, silly," said Mrs Soden, waving the slip of gold in her face. "But this one is addressed to you."

Isabelle took it reluctantly and turned her back to read it.

_Ms Vane,_

_Please accept my warmest apologies for my behaviour last time we met. It would be an honour to invite you to dinner at my place as a token of friendship. Straight after work, come to the factory. Looking forward to the occasion._

_Sincerely,_

_W.W_

"Well, what does it say?" Annie wondered, eagerly.

"You know what it says, it only takes a minute to read," Isabelle smirked. "I don't know if I should go. It's a little bit…odd."

Mrs Soden shooed away her comment with a hand.

"What did I tell you about going out and enjoying yourself? Finish up what you're doing and get gone, young lady. You'll be fine. If you don't turn up tomorrow morning for work, I'll know where to send the police." She chuckled.

"Fine, if it'll make you happy," Isabelle groaned. "But I'm still not sure about this. The handwriting's all funny and I'm pretty sure he'd be a bit more, I don't know, _relaxed _in his content."

"He's probably trying to give you the standard you seem to expect from men. Now hurry up and don't keep the lad waiting."

* * *

Soon Isabelle found herself clutching her handbag to her as she stood outside the great iron gates of the Wonka factory. They were closed but as soon as she moved her finger to press the intercom button, the motorised hinges hummed and swung the gates inwards.

She stepped cautiously into the vast courtyard in front of the building, the gates buzzing closed at her back. There was no one to be seen.

"Hello?" she called.

A face peeked around the side of the immense factory wall. As soon as Isabelle noticed it, an arm poked out and waved at her. Then the figure vanished.

"Hello?" she repeated.

Confused, she hurried towards where she had seen the person. It had looked like a small child wearing something with black and white striped sleeves.

Isabelle turned the corner and shrieked as a huge sack was pulled over her head. Hands grabbed her legs and bundled her inside until everything went completely dark.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry guys, this story's going a lot slower. I guess my heart's not truly in it as I like my Deppcharries eccentric and single, but I'm a try to keep it going some way or another!

* * *

Isabelle didn't know how long she'd been moving. The darkness had thrown her sense of time into distortion, but her captors continued to bear her onwards to where she did not know. She had tried struggling for at least a quarter of an hour but it seemed to have no effect on whoever or whatever was carrying her.

At last they stopped. There came the sound of squeaking followed by a metallic clang. Seconds later she was upended, tumbling out of the sack and falling down a steel chute.

Izzy splashed waist deep in a dark, viscous liquid. She cried out in shock. Panicking, she waded along, slamming her hands to every side but it was no use. She was trapped in a sealed tank.

"Let me out!" she screamed, battering her palms on the cylindrical wall.

The only response was a loud whirring. The drum of the chocolate mixer started to turn with the florist inside. She gasped and tried to keep herself upright, but she was tossed over and over into the sludge.

Isabelle choked.

_I'm going to die, _she thought. _I'm going to die because I insulted a crazy billionaire._

And she began to drown.

* * *

Several floors above in the magnificent chocolate factory, a red light blinked from one side of a ceiling.

Willy Wonka rolled over in his burgundy, four-poster bed and looked up with bleary, purple eyes. As expected, his pyjamas hadn't deviated from his wine-coloured norm. He wore a floppy nightcap embroidered with a silver 'W'. He even slept in his violet plastic gloves.

The red light flashed repeatedly and a low-pitched buzzer sounded. Willy stared at the giant map painted on his bedroom ceiling – an immense blueprint of the most important rooms in his factory, each studded with a miniature bulb.

For a moment he imagined Charlie would come running into his room to explain what was happening, until he remembered he was alone. Except for the workers that is.

Mr Wonka squinted at the room with the blinking light – The Fudge Room.

"Dangit," he groaned. "I'll bet someone's slipped in the fudge barrel again. Really gotta make that opening smaller some day."

He threw aside his sheets and slid forward to the end of the bed where he poked his feet into a pair of plum velvet slippers. As soon as he had stood, the chocolatier was dashing through the winding corridors.

Moments later he shot out into the Fudge Room, having dived onto one of the most enormous slides ever invented – conveniently installed for emergencies such as these. He landed on his feet but stumbled.

_Angle needs adjusting..._

There was a crowd of Oompa Loompas in the room. All were gathered around the great fudge machine, cheering, even waving flags.

Mr Wonka frowned and walked over to them.

"What's goin' on here?" he shouted over the tumult.

There was a shocked silence. Every face turned to Willy. Every body froze.

"Well?" he demanded. "Spit it out, will ya? What's wrong with the machine?"

The Oompa Loompas shifted from foot to foot. They all looked at the floor.

Willy pushed through them to the only piece of equipment running. The fudge machine was a vast silver heffalump topped with perfect domes and intricate tubing. The part that was rumbling was a large chrome box attached to the side.

Mr Wonka cranked down a lever and the machine purred to a halt. He pulled out a bunch of keys from his pyjama pocket, at once knowing which was the one to open the mixer hatch (for Willy had memorised every key and if at any point he appeared to forget any one of them, it was _always _for show). After twirling it in the lock, he wrenched the mixer open.

When the chocolatier peered inside, he staggered in alarm.

"My terrible, terrible workers!" he cried. "What have you done?"

He pointed frantically at the machine as he turned to the Oompa Loompas.

"Get that person outta there, now!"

The little people rushed to obey and scrambled over one another as they dragged the limp woman out of the drum. Mr Wonka shooed them back and crouched beside her.

He reached out gingerly with a rubbery finger and poked the chocolate-coated body onto its back. Willy yelped and stifled himself with his palm. He watched the barely breathing form of the young florist in horror.

"You put Miss Vane in the fudge machine?" he gasped at his workers in disbelief. "You're all silly Snozzwangers. What did you wanna do? Kill her?"

The Oompa Loompas shook their heads, except a very small one at the front who was nodding gleefully. An elder elbowed it immediately, but too late to avoid their employer's disappointed expression. They all exchanged glances before the entire crowd bolted out of sight.

Willy knelt closer to Isabelle, not caring that his pyjama bottoms rested in a puddle of chocolate. He bit the knuckle of his index finger worriedly. With his other hand he tapped her gently on the face.

"Hey, lady, wake up," he pleaded. "Please wake up. I can't very well run a business behind bars now can I?" He giggled nervously.

Mr Wonka did not know CPR, and even if he did, he'd probably have felt embarrassed about it. So he made do with tapping his palm firmly below her chest. He had a feeling he should probably hit a bit higher but the chocolatier was somewhat apprehensive about that region of the opposite gender.

At last the girl coughed, heaving in long draughts of air.

Isabelle's eyes rolled wildly, frightening Willy into jolting away. When her breathing steadied and her vision was able to focus, she turned her gaze upon the anxious face of her rescuer.

She screamed.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Yay it's snowing outside! A proper Tim Burton Christmas atmosphere and I have Mr Wonka at last on DvD. Not done badly considering I'd only seen the movie twice before :)

* * *

Willy felt his skin crawl at the very sound of her. Not so much an eerie prickling (for Mr Wonka was known to over-fantasize) but it was like the sensation of a scarab swarm on jumping beans. Hands clamped over his ears, he dove behind the fudge machine.

When the awful noise finally stopped, he peered through a plastic loop of tubing at the traumatised florist.

"Are ya finished?" he asked, apprehensive.

Isabelle got to her feet, struggling not to slip in the goop that had built a moat around her toes. She pointed a trembling, dripping finger at the chocolatier.

"You – you're in a lot of trouble," she said. "When people find out you kidnapped me, that you…that you tried to _kill _me, they'll lock you up. You be certain of that."

Mr Wonka edged out, a sulky frown on his face.

"Now hold on a second. First, I have no idea how you got here and furthermore, _you're _the one who's gonna be in trouble. Trespasser!"

"Trespasser?" Isabelle blurted, fuming. "You invited me here!"

Willy folded his arms stubbornly, enhancing the silliness of his childish pyjamas.

"Oh really? And in what language is me storming out of your stupid little catering place considered an invitation?"

Isabelle stamped her foot, nearly losing her balance.

"You posted me a letter written on a Golden Ticket!" she hissed.

"Did not! Why would I wanna do that?"

"I don't know," the girl spluttered. "But you did. It's in my bag and if you don't let me go, the police will find it when they come searching for me."

"All right then, show me this so-called ticket," Mr Wonka said shrewdly.

Isabelle tapped at her shoulders to locate the strap of her handbag, but it was missing. She swallowed, trying to remain calm.

"Well obviously you took it off me before you put me in that horrible machine, else it's still in there. You'll probably destroy the evidence…but – but you'll still be caught so let me go this instant!"

Willy raised a hand and opened his mouth to speak but faltered. His lips twisted with annoyance. He wanted to say that he hadn't a clue what she was talking about. He wanted to shout at her for being so ungrateful after he got her out of the mixer. He hadn't written that ticket, he hadn't left the factory since the last time she went berserk. But the whole situation was exhausting him and he couldn't find the words.

"Fine," he said. "Get out of my factory."

Mr Wonka strode past her, barely aware that she flinched.

Somehow, Isabelle had the sudden feeling she was a tiny, lost child. Her temper tantrum had been ignored and she was left with a stronger sense of confusion than ever before.

"I – I don't know the way out," she called after him.

Mr Wonka didn't even look back.

"I'll starve!" she cried out.

Willy sucked his teeth, having put one hand on the rung of the exit ladder. He turned to glower at his unintentional prisoner.

"Ma'am, you're in a chocolate factory. I sincerely doubt it."

That said, he clambered up the ladder and disappeared through the hatch at the top.

The young florist stood awkwardly, once again regretting the bitter barb of her tongue. Even if she had been kidnapped by a crazy man, he didn't seem all that bothered. On the other hand, perhaps her shouting had made him realise what she believed he'd done and had prevented him from harming her further.

She glanced hopelessly about the room, greeted only by the digital chirrup of shuttle-like boxes as they slept, waiting to start making their various comestibles.

_Great,_ she thought. _All I need now is a magic rose and some talking furniture and I'm all set._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

As Isabelle plodded through the dim corridors of the factory, leaving a trail of chocolaty footprints behind her, she had the nagging suspicion she was being followed.

She had managed after a few botched attempts to climb the ladder that Mr Wonka had used but where he'd gone since then she had no clue. To describe being lost in this place was nothing like as cliché as a maze. Mazes didn't tend to have more than one level and usually had some logic as to which was the right direction to the exit.

"If I ever get out of this place I might seriously consider marrying Butcher Fugus," she muttered.

She reached a room at the end of the passageway and, seeing few alternatives, stepped inside.

From the moment the scene reached her eyes, the florist thought she had once again stumbled upon what it was like to be in love. A vast orchard stretched as far as the eye could see; trees of violet, silver and gold. The grass was waist-high and blue as turquoise. Nearby was a huge fountain, carved beautifully in marble and layered like one of Mrs Soden's cakes, though it appeared to have stopped working.

A pool of chocolate swirled gently in the base with onion-sized hazelnuts drifting past like lilies.

Forgetting herself completely, Isabelle knelt on the cool rim of the fountain and gazed into the patterns that danced the surface of the pool.

She never even heard the patter of footsteps as something rushed up behind her and shoved. She toppled into the fountain, her feet unable to find the bottom. Great black tentacles shot out and wrapped around her body, stifling her screams. Through the second layer of chocolate she could barely make out a gathering of orange faces before she was pulled under.

* * *

_Willy stood at the French windows leading to his balcony and watched the rain trickling down the glass. The thunder rumbled outside following each glare of light that struck his face. He didn't wonder why the weather was too ironic, nor did he wonder why his pyjamas were now his usual coat-and-tails. All he could feel was the fear that clutched his insides. Something was coming._

_From the hallway he heard the noise, the hideous laughter approaching._

"_Ha-ha-ha-ha, he-he-he-he…"_

_In terror he spun to face the doors of his bedroom, a flash of lightning revealing the rattle of the handles._

They're trying to get in, _he thought. _The awful singing!

_Sure enough an off-key chant like a broken music box echoed off the walls, mixing with the jeering._

"…_modest, clever and so smart, he barely can restrain it…"_

_Something battered at the windowpanes. Mr Wonka leapt away and gripped one of his end bedposts in fright._

"_Ha-ha-ha-ha, he-he-he-he…" The chanting grew louder._

_Willy chewed at his fingernails. He stared, petrified, at the face looking in from his balcony. Polished features, unblinking eyes, fixed dangerous smiles on bodies that should not move unmanned. _

_The door handles rattled again and made a snapping noise. One door creaked open, the sound of many wooden feet pouring through._

"…_no way to contain it…ha-ha-ha-ha, he-he-he-he…"_

_Willy scrambled backwards, tripping on his bedcovers as he tried to hold his balance on the mattress. The marching shadows surrounded his bed._

"_N-n-no! Get outta here!" the chocolatier cried._

_But the puppets only laughed. They crawled across the quilt in their hundreds, pinning him to the wall._

_Willy reached out with a strangely ungloved hand, striving to reach for his jungle machete he kept in the bedside table. The metallic chink to his left made his stomach turn. He felt his arms slammed back against the wall and held fast._

_Mr Wonka watched helplessly as the puppet holding the knife drew back its arm to strike. He screamed –_

- and woke up.

Willy gulped down air, his heart racing. His eyes scanned the room from over the top of his covers. When he had calmed enough, he slid his bedside drawer open. His old machete lay untouched, sealed in a souvenir case – still with the remnants of Whangdoodle blood on the blade.

He gave a haughty sniff before glancing up at the map on his ceiling. There was another red light; yet this time it wasn't one of the main rooms. Instead, the rim of the map sent a shimmering train of scarlet rushing around.

"Oh shoot," said Wonka, biting his lip.

The label of the outer rim gleamed: 'Tartletarus'.

Willy sprang out of bed and into his work shoes. He snatched the first coat he saw from his wardrobe – a black faux-fur one he usually wore outside the factory gates – and kicked the foot of his hat-stand. The infamous top hat flipped off and landed perfectly on his head mere seconds after he had whipped away the nightcap.

Now for the final touches: one hand acquired his waiting cane from its resting place, the other produced what could only be described as an enormous pair of sun-_goggles_, which when put on took up half of his face.

Ready to face the world, the chocolatier threw wide the doors and strode dramatically into the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Okie here's a nice longish one for ya. This might explain why it's taking me so long to update things. This, and the fact I'm now doing 3 alternately as well as trying to get my Uni work done (sigh) ah well, hope you enjoy what you get when you get it hehe!

* * *

The florist in distress opened her eyes to find that she was underwater. Or at least that was how it felt, if only a little more restraining. Somehow she could see through the chocolate entombing her, somehow she could breathe.

Pushing out with her arms, Isabelle swam forwards to where she thought she could see a room of sorts. She stopped when her hands met with a plastic shield. Realising she was once again trapped in a tank, she battered her fists against the transparent wall, chocolate bubbles trailing from her open mouth.

Beyond this new prison, she saw the outline of what looked like a temple. The colours escaped her sight through the red-brown gauze, but there were stone steps leading down towards her. Torches were crackling in brackets on gargoyle-infested walls and a larger fire – perhaps a campfire – crouched in the centre of the monkey-puzzled floor. Yet the strangest to her eyes was the gathering of little people, no higher than her knees, all dressed in hooded blue robes. Some were singing and dancing around the fire centrepiece, others simply stood and observed her.

_What _are _they? _Isabelle thought. She smacked a fist again on the side of the tank and tried to call to them but nothing came out in the thick of the liquid.

Before she'd recalled how she got here in the first place, the gigantic black squid shot from above and latched around her, its tentacles crushing, the pressure of its suckers causing her bones to ache. The crowd outside were chanting as she struggled and kicked at the monster that had her in its clutches. She was a game, a sport.

* * *

"Come on, guys. Row faster!" Mr Wonka cried.

A great pink dragon-boat zoomed through the canal tunnels deep in the underbelly of the factory, propelled at break-neck speed by a score of Oompa Loompas. The chocolatier leaned to the right of the seahorse figurehead and struck at the chocolate river beneath with an oar.

_I only hope those little devils don't take it too far_, he worried silently.

Willy had lived to regret building the series of rooms within his home he had labelled 'Tartletarus'. The inspiration had come from a brief obsession with Indiana Jones movies he'd discovered during his Television Chocolate experiments. Although it hadn't been the sort of idea that appears in the form of a gleaming light-bulb over one's head, more the kind that occurs after you reach inside the television set to grab a chocolate bar you'd just transferred to find your hand getting squashed by a stray boulder the size of a tennis ball.

Tartletarus was designed as an Aztec temple but without the nasty shocks. That wasn't to say there were no surprises, for Mr Wonka was in fact very partial to them. However, a certain group of his workers had taken rather too much interest in the place over the years. So much so that they had reverted to an almost primitive way of life, one that dated even before their awe-inspiring treehouses in the Loompian jungles. These workers rarely left the temple, making it a shrine to their beloved cocoa beans – the valuable and desired currency in which Willy paid them for their services. Their overzealous isolation had led to secretive and odd behaviour. Mr Wonka became so concerned that he had eventually declared the place off-limits.

_Shows how much they listened to me, _he thought sadly.

"Almost there people," he shouted. "Full speed ahead!"

* * *

Isabelle screamed soundlessly and tried to squish one of the creature's tentacles in her palm, but it didn't even flinch. The thing did not seem to understand pain. Her stray hand clawed at the plastic enclosure, trying to attract the mercy of the cheering onlookers.

One of the blue-hooded people moved towards her and held up a hand for silence. The rest of them obeyed. As though reading her mind's pleas for reasoning, the Oompa Loompa closest to the tank reached into his robes and produced a thick wad of paper. The blurred print of a tabloid pressed against the wall for Isabelle to read.

The squid's hold seemed to have loosened enough for her to turn her face to the bold titling beyond the brown haze.

**Wonka Sales Down By 40pc**

Bubbles were the only reply she could utter, a short burst of confusion.

The leader of the blue-hoods gestured to the headline before pointing an accusing finger at her. Then he stepped back, whirled, and cast the newspaper into the flames in the room's centre. The cheering and chanting recommenced. Isabelle felt the monster's grip crushing once more, her vision fading.

She had almost lost consciousness, the roaring crowd overtaking her senses, when a loud resonance swept through the temple. From inside the tank, her ears clogged up with watery chocolate, the noise was unintelligible – like the lowing of a cow.

What the blue-hood Oompa Loompas heard, however, was making them uneasy. Their cries died out completely. The voice of their employer boomed through a megaphone into the temple.

"_This room is forbidden. Would all the workers in the temple make their way to the boat at once, before I flood the whole darn place? Get out! Thank you."_

The cult of Oompa Loompas stood transfixed, mumbling decisions amongst themselves.

Mr Wonka did not grant them his patience. The chocolatier strode into the temple, tapping the arm of each gargoyle that lined the walls with his cane. As the arms lurched downwards, the stone beasts opened their mouths and spewed out jets of liquid chocolate. It trickled down the steps, quickly beginning to fill the room.

The blue-hoods screamed and bolted from the temple, all but one who was huddled at the side of the great tank, wiggling a multitude of levers. Willy walked casually towards the remaining worker, his shoes miraculously avoiding the pool of chocolate gathering behind him. The Oompa Loompa trembled inside his robes and looked up into the dark slabs of Wonka's sunglasses.

"Hello there," said Willy. "Gosh, that's a really neat trick you got going on in here. Now why don't you scoot along with the others, 'kay?" He switched to a harsher tone. "Before I ship you off back to the jungle."

The blue-hood whimpered and dashed out of the room as fast as his little legs would carry him.

Mr Wonka nodded and pressed a yellow button on the metal hull of the tank. The plastic wall retracted, flushing the tank's contents into the temple.

Isabelle coughed up not nearly enough chocolate as she felt the need to and pushed away the limp form of the squid. As she sat on the floor the brown liquid was almost past her hips and rising, the tribal campfire long since extinguished. She glanced up wearily at the chocolatier who stood as yet unspattered by the substance, and opened her mouth to speak.

Willy shook his head.

"No time," he called as the sound of rushing chocolate increased in volume. Determined not to get the merest stain on his coat he reached out for her with his cane, almost yanking her arm clean out of its socket when she took a hold. Having dragged the florist to a temporary safety, he led her into a passageway behind the emptied tank.

"We gotta keep moving," Wonka cried. "This place is only as good as its purpose."

Isabelle parted the curtain of oozing chocolate that blinded her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Willy bit his lip, continuing to pull her along with the cane as though she were on a lead.

"Well most temples are built to withstand the test of the ages," he answered.

"And this one isn't?"

"No."

"What's it designed for then?" Isabelle said, predictably.

Mr Wonka gave a childish smile of pride.

"It's designed to sink."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Those of you waiting for OneDepp, sorry for its slowness...I've got a lot on my chocolaty little plate at the mo hehe! So feel free to enjoy my other stories, like...this one.

* * *

The temple rumbled behind them. Willy dashed through a mock-ancient maze, blocking out the rantings of his female escort. It wasn't his fault she couldn't keep her grip on the cane he held out for her. She shouldn't have gotten coated head to foot in chocolate – _oh the poor chocolate _– what was she going to contaminate next? The woman was a nightmare!

"Will you slow down?" Isabelle yelled shrilly.

Mr Wonka couldn't blot that one out. Even the roaring din of the submerging temple was lower in volume. He stopped so abruptly that she almost collided with him.

"Lady…"

Isabelle looked up at the chocolatier with uncertainty, stone-coloured plaster raining around them.

"Allow me to give you the answer to all the questions you could possibly ask me at this very moment in time," he said cynically. "I DON'T CARE!"

Without pausing to see her expression, Willy dragged her along once more and quickened his pace. They reached a cul-de-sac but before Isabelle had time or will to protest, he rapped his knuckles on a plastic brick in the wall. The wall ahead of them fell away to reveal another passage that met with a cross section.

Mr Wonka whipped his cane out of Isabelle's hands and barred her from moving ahead of him.

"Wait."

Seconds later, a boulder-sized gobstopper decorated in black and white stripes bulldozed through the crosswise passage. Willy nearly jabbed the florist in the stomach as he thrust the end of his cane back to her and pulled her quickly past the crossroads.

Isabelle hurried after him through this now seemingly never-ending corridor and winced at the sight of brown liquid seeping up through the floor tiles. In her panic she stumbled and had to catch herself against the wall. She felt a sickening lurch in her stomach when the brick she touched slid inwards with a soft _click_.

"Shoot," said the voice ahead of her. "Miss Vane?"

"Yes?" she asked, swallowing.

"Run."

Almost immediately, thousands of tiny pellets shot out of holes in the wall, peppering them as they bolted past. They stung like hailstones.

Willy and Isabelle dashed along as the passage inclined upwards, the sound of the rushing chocolate behind deafening. He stopped her again when they reached level ground. A chasm of at least twelve feet spread before them.

Mr Wonka snatched a thick cord hanging down beside the end of the passage. It looked suspiciously like strawberry bootlaces woven together.

"Come quickly!" He had to shout. "Grab this!"

Willy made sure her hand had hooked inside a loop of cord, for the amount of sticky goo covering her would certainly have been too slippery, and pushed her out into the void.

Isabelle shrieked over the gap and tumbled into the passage on the other side. Mr Wonka caught the rope on its swing-back. He chanced a look behind him and whimpered. The chocolatier swung after her just as the tidal wave of chocolate burst up the corridor and dropped away into the chasm.

"W-wha-." Isabelle caught her breath. "What the hell was all that? And why were there _bullets _in there?"

"They weren't bullets," said Mr Wonka, who was inspecting a crack in his sunglasses rather ruefully. "They're chocolate raisins."

"What!" Isabelle cried in disbelief. "But _why_?"

"Why not?"

The florist gave up.

There was a ladder embedded in the wall nearby, which the chocolatier clambered. He struck the dusty trapdoor overhead with the tip of his cane. It creaked open and slammed onto the floor of his Inventing Room, much to the surprise of a few passing Oompa Loompas.

Once they had both reached the safety of this level, Mr Wonka noticed Isabelle backing away from the hobbit-sized onlookers.

"W-what are they?" she asked uneasily.

"It's not _what_, it's who," Willy replied in distaste. "They're my workers, and darn good ones at that."

"But they're the…people I saw in the temple. They put me in that tank with that _thing_. What _was _that?"

Mr Wonka continued to lead her but without the aid of his cane this time. He was surprised that his 'guest' hadn't been distracted from her questioning by all the bizarre machinery in the room. She carried on, oblivious, past contraptions billowing smoke; some flashing lights like spaceships; some sending strangely formed objects spouting out like popcorn.

"Liquorice squid," he said, at first giving Isabelle the idea that he suffered from Tourettes. "It's a little piece of decoration filled with a load of infinitesimal motors. I didn't think my -." He hesitated. "- workers would ever use it to hurt anyone."

Isabelle frowned but decided not to press further for the time being.

"Where are we going?" she wondered.

"To get you cleaned up," said Willy. "You're upsetting my décor."

He arrived at the far side of the room where a silver door twinkled at them expectantly. The chocolatier took out a bunch of keys from inside his coat and used a likewise silver one with the lock.

As soon as Isabelle had stepped inside the next room, she had to resist the urge to rub her chocolate-coated eyelids. It was like walking into a five-star hotel. The bedroom lavish with silver curtains (though the 'window' appeared to be painted onto the wall) and carpet, mahogany furniture and ocean blue wallpaper. There was also a desk piled somewhat untidily with stacks of scrawled-on paper.

"Is this where you sleep?" she asked, though quietly for she was aware that her questioning was probably getting annoying by now.

"Nah, this is Charlie's room."

Before Isabelle could stop herself, she blurted: "Oh, you have a son?" She managed to correct herself at the look of horror on his face. "Sorry. Charlie…he's that boy who won your competition, isn't he?"

Willy nodded, fighting a desire to regurgitate.

"He's on vacation," he said. "Now, there's a bathroom through there." He gestured to another door on the left. "I'll go get something of Mrs Bucket's you can borrow when you're done, 'kay? She shouldn't mind."

He grimaced at the pool of chocolate collecting on the expensive carpet about Miss Vane's feet, but forced a smile when she looked at him. It was a curious look, as though she were deciding something about him.

Then she said "thank you" and trudged into the bathroom.

Mr Wonka sighed wearily and closed the door on his way out. It was going to be a _long _night.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: My sincere apologies for the time it has taken to update on all my fanfictions at the present time. Due to lack of time, broken monitor and ... for this story at least as I'm not keen on romance...I've had severe writer's block. If I find a renewed muse for this particular story I shall indeed update it!

* * *

Even the bathrooms of this extraordinary complex held their surprises. Nevertheless the taps were tap-shaped and did _not _spurt chocolate but hot or cold water as expected. There was however an incident involving a seemingly harmless bar of soap, which when applied to the body erupted into an infestation of self-driven bubbles. Mr Wonka had burst in at the screaming – an action that only caused more screaming from the female bather. He'd escaped with minor bruising from a poorly aimed shampoo bottle.

Isabelle also got a shock from the pink bath towel exploded into an enormous candy puff once she had wrapped it around her. With the grace of a novelty meringue she had crept back into the bedroom to find some clothes laid out cautiously on the desk stool.

Presently she sat on the end of Charlie's bed, absently watching a clock on the wall. The hour struck nine. A flap opened at the top of the clock and a tiny Easter bunny hopped out, thumped its foot the appropriate measure of times, and bounced back into the works.

There came a timid knock at the door. It was followed by a much louder knock as though the visitor had force-fed himself courage.

"Miss Vane, are ya dressed?" Willy's voice sounded.

"Yes."

The door opened a fraction.

"Are ya gonna throw somethin' at me?"

"Not yet."

Mr Wonka hesitated but coaxed himself to enter the room. He swallowed at the sight of her wearing the plum dress he'd picked out for her. Plum. He really had to get over this obsession, and the hat one too…she wasn't wearing the black and white striped beret he'd left for her. Never mind, one step at a time.

Willy cleared his throat and revealed something he had hidden behind his back.

"I believe this is yours," he said, dropping a handbag crusted with dry chocolate into her hands. "It was found floating in my river."

"You have a _river_ in this place?" she replied, beyond disbelief.

"Sort of."

Her attention had drifted back to her bag as she rummaged delicately through the dried mess caking its contents. At last she pulled out what she had been looking for – her Golden invitation. She held it out to the chocolatier. It was barely legible now but he took it regardless in rubbery fingers.

"Oh dear," Willy muttered, scanning the faded lettering.

"Hmm?"

"Like I said before," Mr Wonka replied, handing the ticket back with a grimace, "I didn't write it. They really went too far. I shoulda seen somethin' like this comin'."

Isabelle's brow creased.

"By _they_, do you mean those people in the hooded robes?"

Willy nodded.

"But they work for you. Why would they-?" Isabelle faltered before continuing. "They had a paper. They think I'm responsible for a sales fall in your factory."

Willy, his eyes still hidden behind his cracked goggles, muttered, "Poppycock."

"But why would they think that?" Izzy pressed. "Mr Wonka, I don't know you and you really don't know me. We run entirely different businesses, so how can I possibly affect who buys your stuff or not?"

"That certainly is a mystery," Willy said quickly. He turned to leave. "Well, g'night Miss Vane."

Isabelle was struck.

"Good night? But it's barely past nine, and I haven't even got my clothes back yet."

"They won't be clean for a while," Mr Wonka answered awkwardly. "I assumed you'd be okay to stay the night in here."

The florist raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to sleep this early?"

"No," was the indignant reply. Willy hugged his coat tighter around him so she wouldn't remember he had pyjamas underneath. "I'm, uh, gonna catch up on some work."

"Oh," said Isabelle. Once again she felt about five years old. "Can I come with you? I'm not tired."

Mr Wonka tensed.

"You wanna wander about with me through my top secret, valuable factory where almost everyone in the whole world is not allowed to walk on account of it being so top secret and valuable?"

Isabelle cast her eyes to the floor.

"Well, all right," Willy sighed. "But you gotta wear the hat. It's rude not to wear a hat indoors."

"I thought it was the other way around," the florist uttered as she rose. "You're supposed to take hats off -."

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

She silenced at the unnerving goggle gaze and placed the beret on her head.

"Okay then," said Mr Wonka, his teeth showing in a half smile. "Let's move along."

Isabelle let out a long breath as the chocolatier turned to the door. She glanced at herself in a mirror on the wall – a little bedraggled, a bit overdressed – and then followed him outside.


End file.
